


Listen In

by MonsterParade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Eavesdropping, Gender-Ambiguous Reader, Kinda?, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Other, and everyone would actually be super on board, but they don't and so this is what you get, if they would just COMMUNICATE, no pronouns specified, the situation is a liiittle morally dubious but no one is hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: You're his roomie and his friend, his tiny, human friend, and he should not be thinking about you the way he is right now because it's creepy and gross and probably, maybe, against some kind of law, but--But he's frozen.He can't move his pedes; they might as well be welded to the floor.Because he can hear you inside, through the door of the hab, and the noises you're making would be obvious enough to tell him what you're up to by themselves and he would have just left, he'd even made to turn around just as soon as he caught wind of what was happening in there- but then he'd heard you sigh, in your breathy little voice, probably the last word he would have thought would come out of your mouth right then and it froze him on the spot.His name. Swerve. His name.





	Listen In

You're his roommate. That's the first thing that comes to mind, standing where he is, frozen outside your habsuite door.  
  
Or, more accurately, your _shared_ habsuite door- you share the room, it's his door too, and he didn't get himself into this situation on purpose so why does he feel so _filthy_ right now?  
  
You're his roomie and his friend, his _tiny, human_ friend, and he should _not_ be thinking about you the way he is right now because it's creepy and gross and probably, maybe, against some kind of _law_ , but--  
  
But he's frozen.  
  
He can't move his pedes; they might as well be welded to the floor.  
  
Because he can hear you inside, through the door of the hab, and the noises you're making would be obvious enough to tell him what you're up to by themselves and he would have just _left,_ he'd even made to turn around just as soon as he caught wind of what was happening in there- but then he'd heard you sigh, in your breathy little voice, probably the last word he would have thought would come out of your mouth right then and it froze him on the spot.  
  
His name. Swerve. **_His_** _name._  
  
And god, he feels like a horrible pervert just hovering here in the hallway now, but he just can't bring himself to _move._ Not when he can hear the minute rustling of blankets being moved, and the creaking of the little human-sized mattress they'd brought on board the ship, just for you. Quiet sounds. Whispers and moans.  
  
He can feel his frame prickling, unusually hot. He knows what you're doing in there- your two species are similar enough, shockingly so, that he knows beyond a doubt that you're touching yourself, recognizes the quiet _shlicking_ sounds mortifyingly easily. And, trying as he might be to keep his processor at bay, he's watched enough R-rated human media (of course he has; he's watched everything) to have a pretty good idea of what you must look like right now, which his processor helpfully supplies to the sound of his cooling fans whirring to life.  
  
He needs to move. He needs to move and not be doing this, not be bracing his weight against the door to better hear you breathing harshly into your pillow. It's just gross. He's _gross._ And you really are making a valiant effort to be quiet- if he were a human he probably wouldn't have heard you at all. Unfortunately for you, though, Cybertronians have a much better sense of hearing than you humans do, and while he's mentioned that fact to you before it has apparently escaped your attention for the time being. He can hear you when you whimper and press your fingers into yourself.  
  
Covering his own mouth with a servo, Swerve dims his visor and tries to imagine how many fingers you might be using right now, how exactly you like to pleasure yourself. You're so _delicate_ -looking compared to your company on this ship, with no plating to protect you and your array not made of metal mesh but instead of tender flesh, that it would worry him if he didn't know that your little servos were just as dainty. He's felt how soft your skin is, himself, when you affectionately grab at his hands or link your arms with his, or when you jump on him from behind and beg him for a piggyback ride. He can only imagine how soft you must be between your legs.  
  
" _Swerve,_ " he hears you breathe again, and it's only through a _herculean_ force of will that he manages to keep his engine from revving while he leans his forehead against the cool metal of the hab door and guiltily palms at his panels.  
  
He can't help but wonder what position you're in. How do you like to touch yourself? The soft, wet noises he can hear are slow, indulgent, and while it's almost processor-melting to know that you're not _fucking_ yourself to the thought of him so much as _making love,_ it still doesn't supply any info as to how you might be laying. He imagines you on your belly.  
  
No, on your knees, with your soft round aft in the air and your face pressed into your pillows, to muffle your sounds. With your valve stretched wide around your fingers, velvet soft and dripping wet and completely on display.  
  
Swerve shuts his visor down completely and bites down on his own hand to choke back a moan.  
  
If he were a different mech, a bolder mech- someone like Rodimus, or Whirl, or maybe Skids- he would entertain the thought of opening that habsuite door and scooping you up into his arms to give you exactly what you're asking for. Tenderly, of course, _so_ tenderly; he'd kiss you silly and make love to you so _thoroughly_ that you'd be near boneless with satisfaction by the time he was done with you. Or he'd at least send you a cheeky comm., something to let you know he was interested, something like, "[Geez, you missed me that much? Let me know if you ever want a go with the _real thing._ ]".  
  
Yeah. Ugh, he can definitely see Rodimus doing that, as loathe as he is to imagine you in the arms of his captain right now.  
  
Unfortunately, that's not in the cards for him.  
  
No, _him,_ he's just going to lurk outside your room and grind his panels into his palm to the sounds of you pleasuring yourself, self-disgust mixing with racing charge to create a cocktail of endorphins in his brain.  
  
He can hear you shift positions, slightly, through the door of the hab, your mattress squeaking with protest as your motions begin to speed up. The general quiet is broken by a wet, fleshy smacking sound as you, Swerve can only imagine, begin to finger-fuck yourself in earnest, and he feels his spike pulse _hard_ behind his modesty panel, feels his own valve uncomfortably slick with need. He wishes he was in there. He _wants_ to be in there, with you, even if only just to see you with your thighs all shiny and your skin damp with sweat, face sloppy with pleasure.  
  
That's what he thinks of as he humps his own servo; you, performing for him, whispering his name and telling him how much you love him in between moans and little bursts of laughter.  
  
He keeps his panels closed all the while, his face scrunched up with the effort of staying quiet, mumbles as quietly as he can behind his hand and whimpers that he likes you, he loves you, he's _so_ desperately in love with you and he has to say it even though you can't hear him. He doesn't overload until you do; his legs trembling while he desperately holds himself back until he can finish _with_ you. It doesn't take you too long.  
  
" _Ah_ \- Swerve, I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna _cum- hhn! Swerve-!_ "  
  
He hears your voice break as you cry his name into your pillow, can hear the creaking stop as you tense up and stop moving and cum around your fingers with him on your mind, and Swerve is helpless but to chase your overload with his own and a desperate, choked-off screech of static.  
  
Heavy venting, and silence.  
  
Oh. Oh. Oh, god.  
  
He's going to die. He's actually, really, honest to god swear-to-Primus going to die. He's just overloaded in his panels like he hasn't done since he was little more than a newspark, and his processor is so foggy with the charge of it but he _knows_ you must have heard him, he _knows_ he must have given himself away and now you're going to hate him and have him kicked off the ship and never talk to him _again_. He feels his own transfluid dripping out of the seams around his paneling and spattering hot into his palm, and he reels away from the door with a desperate wish that he'd never even been brought online to begin with.  
  
He nearly slams head-first into one big, yellow optic.  
  
Everything freezes again.  
  
" _...Hhholy fucking shit,_ " Whirl whispers, looming over him, his optic darting back and forth between the habsuite door and Swerve's transfluid-smeared palm, and he seems to buzz with a manic glee as Swerve tries to actually offline himself with sheer force of will. " _Holy fucking **shit!**_ Did you...are they in there? _Really?_ "  
  
"Don't tell them," Swerve croaks. It's the weakest argument he could possibly come up with, not even really an argument at all, but it's all he can bring himself to say before he bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw energon and dashes away down the hall, as fast as his wobbling legs can carry him, skidding around a corner and locking himself away in the first private place he can find- a broom closet, it so happens.  
  
Whirl watches him go and stays just where he is, his optic so bright it's nearly burning out of his head.  
  
He has to tell somebody. Not _everybody_ , just somebody, _somebody_ needs to take this sudden development off of his hands (well, claws) before the scandal of it melts him down into scrap. He tears off in the opposite direction without another moment to spare, thumping off the walls and howling with laughter as he makes a beeline for the only person he _knows_ will keep the secret. Cyclonus is going to blow a gasket _for sure._  
  
_________  
  
  
When you finally exit your berthroom a little while later, tousle-haired and bleary-eyed, you take your headphones out of your ears and hum happily to yourself while you tuck them into your pocket, not even taking notice of the little pink stains on the floor just outside your door.

**Author's Note:**

> Not pictured, but; things all work out for these two in the end. ; )


End file.
